


Sonnet 116

by Charlotte_Stant



Series: Shakespeare would NEVER [2]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, F/M, Infidelity, Orgasm Denial, Under-negotiated Kink, background tom/greg, marriage is a sacrament, tom has a peloton, tom wambsgans is a wine mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlotte_Stant/pseuds/Charlotte_Stant
Summary: Shiv finds out.
Relationships: Siobhan "Shiv" Roy/Tom Wambsgans
Series: Shakespeare would NEVER [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080614
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Sonnet 116

**Author's Note:**

> Once again the consent here is Not Great so if that is a trigger for you please do not read. My beautiful trash son Tom just really, truly has no idea what he's doing.

Tom has a Peloton. It’s a little embarrassing. ”Ohhh, are you a wine mom now?” Shiv had asked when he told her he was ordering it. “Am I married to a wine mom? That’s so cute, honey. No, really, that’s great, enjoy it.” But it’s good exercise, and less dick-measuringly stressful than going to the gym and feeling like a mortal among Schwarzeneggers. And yeah, he likes the compliments from the instructor, so sue him. He’s getting decently fit, not knockout status or anything, just maybe a little less dadbod.

He peels off his shirt after a particularly grueling session and inspects himself in the bedroom mirror. “Would you say I’m _honed_ , Shiv?”

She throws a sock at him. “Um, I’d say you’re a giant dork, definitely.”

He throws the sock back. She scrunches up her nose cutely, and goes back to her iPad. He’s feeling really good in their marriage right now. The thing with Greg is helping, weirdly. Like it’s taken some of the pressure off his relationship with Shiv maybe? Or maybe just that’s he’s having good sex on the regular and it’s boosting his mood. Whatever. It’s nice. He pads over to the bed and drops a kiss on the top of Shiv’s head.

“Eww!” She swats him away, but she’s smiling. “You are so gross right now. Go shower.”

In the shower he strokes himself, thinking about Greg, and comes all over the wall.

He eats dinner with Shiv and they discuss whether it would make sense to hire a chef, part-time, just to cook some meals for them so they don’t have to get so much delivery. There are points on both sides but ultimately they agree that they like variety too much to want to rely on one person’s cooking. Status quo it is. Also, being rich fucking rocks.

They’ve just about finished eating when he realises Shiv is staring at him. He widens his eyes at her jokingly and she looks away and takes a big gulp of wine.

Ok, what? “Are you ok, honey?”

“Yeah!” She is definitely not ok. Tom tries to think of things that might have gone wrong: is this some shit with Logan again? Or Kendall, is he out of rehab? Shiv clears her throat. “Ok, I think your weird repressed midwesternness is like, rubbing off on me or something, and it’s making me all weird and repressed, so I’m going to set that aside and just say it. Um. I know you’re fucking Greg.”

Tom is very still. “Greg?” he asks, stupidly. He thinks his voice sounds normal but honestly it’s hard to tell over the roaring in his ears.

“Yes, Greg, my cousin, Greg, your weirdo work peon Greg. And you don’t have to be weird about it! I mean, it is kind of weird, not gonna lie, I do _not_ see it, personally.”

Tom considers trying to brazen it out, but he doesn’t have the neck for it. Can’t bluff like Logan can, can’t assert his will and make it fact through sheer force of personality. He says, “Uh.” It’s impossible to look at Shiv; he twists in his chair and looks out the window instead. If he starts tearing up he will fucking punch something. Not Shiv, obviously. A wall, he’ll punch a fucking—”How did you know?” he asks. His voice sounds soft in his own ears. Weak.

“Um, well, you started caring about working out. And you seemed like, weirdly happy? Like I’ve never heard you sing before and suddenly you were like, dancing around the apartment singing When Doves Cry. So I knew you were fucking someone.”

When Doves Cry is… a slapper? Is that what the kids call it these days? Oh no right, “it slaps.” That’s what they say. He learned that from Greg. “How did you know it was Greg.” His voice is steadier now; good.

Shiv sighs. It’s her “you’re being a moron” sigh, overlaid with “oh god I married you” impatience. “Tom, honey, we have a home security system.”

Oh my god. “Oh my god.” Tom is no longer corporeal. He is become a being of panic and adrenaline. “Have you seen. Uh.” He focuses on breathing. Imagines his Peloton coach is talking him through this. Find your center, keep going, fight it out.

“I mean, I didn’t _watch_. Tom, why are you freaking out, this isn’t a big deal! I’m just telling you I know so you don’t have to be all weird and stressed trying to hide it. I think this is great, actually. Just maybe… remember we have a camera in the foyer, for next time. Nothing’s safe in the cloud, you know?”

Tom thinks maybe Shiv will drop it, after that, and they can go back to never talking about it ever. But she doesn’t, little comments at odd times that suggest maybe she’s more bothered than she’s letting on. In the elevator up to their apartment after a charity dinner: “You know, I really shouldn’t be surprised that you like to take it.”

Or, in the car to the helipad: “I guess I should be glad you didn’t start fucking Ken or Roman. Wait, you haven’t, right? Fucked Ken or Roman?”

Tom glances at the privacy screen separating them from the driver, laughs heartily. “What is Connor, chopped liver?” he jokes. He wants to die.

They don’t talk in the helicopter, or as they walk up to the house. When they get to their bedroom Tom says “Shiv—” and Shiv cuts him off with a look.

“Get on the bed, I’m sitting on your face.” Her voice is cool, poised, slightly bored.

Tom feels like he’s just been reprieved. He hurries onto the bed, gets into place. Adjusts himself in his pants. He can’t be gay, can he, if the thought of going down on his wife makes him start chubbing up? Unless it’s just being ordered about that gets him off, which is—abort, abort, focus on the task at hand. Shiv is wet, sighs breathily as she grinds her cunt against his face. He kisses her cunt, licks her clit till his jaw is aching and Shiv is gasping above him, writhing, squeezing him with her thighs. He can’t really breathe and the pressure is honestly pretty uncomfortable but it’s also fucking hot.

Shiv bites her hand as she comes, choking down the sounds that want to escape. When she lies down next to Tom, all sweaty and still breathing heavily, he picks her hand up and licks the teethmarks. “I love you, Siobhan,” he says.

Shiv rolls her eyes. “I know. Idiot.”

Tom reaches down towards his flies and she slaps his hand away. “No. Don’t touch yourself. I don’t want you to come.”

Oh, fuck. “Honey—”

“You can come when Greg’s balls deep in you and not before. Do you understand?”

“That was pretty clear, honey,” Tom says, aiming for “dry” but maybe not quite getting there.

“And don’t brush your teeth. I want you to kiss him with me on your mouth.”

“Uh.” Tom isn’t sure he’s up for that. “Isn’t that? Incest?”

“Oh my god, Tom, don’t be such a pussy!” Shiv sits up and slaps his face, hard. The pain is like a bolt of electricity straight to his cock. Shiv tenderly rubs the cheek she’s just marked, smiles at him. “This is going to be so good for us, Tom. Now. I’m going to go down and grab a drink. You should wait till your face is a little less red. And remember what I said.” She squeezes his cock through his pants and leaves.

Tom just lays there for a few minutes, then takes out his phone.

>>>Are you here yet?

<<<Yeah I’m at the house where are you?

>>>Upstairs. The Blue Room  
>>>You should come up.

<<<Are you sure? Isn’t Shiv here

>>>Greg can you just. Come up

Greg comes.


End file.
